The Marianas had just been invaded, and the men stood around the radio shack listening to the progress of the battle. “It won’t be long before we’re there ourselves,” they said, and glanced at each other. The wags in the crew, principally the coxswain by the name of Wortly, made jokes about it. “Say, we’re going in the wrong direction,” he said. “I think this war is dangerous. If they don’t watch out somebody is going to get hurt.” The long tropical days seemed endless. Slowly the mercury in the thermometer on the wing of the bridge climbed until it hovered around ninety-five each day at noon and fell only to eighty-five at night. All hands discarded uniforms for bathing trunks or trousers cut down to shorts. As the ship steamed steadily along there was very little for the men off watch to do. They lay sunning themselves on deck. I heard a group of them laughing on the forecastle deck one morning and glanced at them. Four seamen were there—White, and three of his friends.
